by B. A. Scott
Kaven supported Gabrel as they ran toward the mirror. When they reached the portal, they saw that its frame had cracked, and the waves of silver glass had grown violent. Kaven shoved Gabrel into it, and dove in immediately after.
Gabrel fell to the floor at Athiux’s feet.
“What happened?!” the Sage asked. But before Gabrel could answer, Kaven appeared from the mirror, and helped his brother up.
“Let’s go!” he said.
The three of them ran down the shaking hallway, and up the stairs to the chamber’s entrance. As they exited the giant hawk head, daylight blinded their eyes. Kade and the Guardians already had their horses waiting, though the animals were restless, and whinnied as the earth shook below their hooves.
“How did you do it?” Gabrel asked his brother quietly as they mounted their horses. The vision of Kaven filled with magic still burned in his mind. “How is it possible?” But Kaven didn’t answer. He was just as bewildered as his brother was.
“Why did you delay?!” Athiux demanded to know. Gabrel and Kaven looked at each other.
“The ground fell out from under us,” Gabrel lied. “We could’ve used your help.”
Athiux weighed Gabrel’s response, then ultimately conceded in believing him.
The great hawk’s head began to retract back into the rocky wall from where it had emerged. But before it could rejoin the mountainside, it cracked, and broke apart. The two columns that stood high in the mountain air groaned as the ground around them fractured.
“Bloody Earth Pearls,” Gabrel said, watching the towering columns crash to the ground like mammoth trees. The land heaved, and Gabrel saw the top of Mount Breyen crumble in on itself, then birth an avalanche that took with it every tree, rock and root it touched. “Hundreds will reshape the land,” he repeated the Sage’s words under his breath.
“Ride!” Athiux shouted. The land broke under the racing steeds as the Sage led the others down the mountain. Tree limbs slapped in their faces, and the rockslide behind them smashed into the crystal formations they passed like an army of stampeding steeds.
We’re not going to make it, Gabrel thought. The rocks were gaining on them. The avalanche would devour them. It was only a matter of time.
At that moment, Athiux unsheathed the Earth Sword furentus. While riding, he pointed its amber blade toward the path ahead, and swung downward with three heavy strokes. As the racing horses rapidly approached, the ground cracked, split apart and separated into a wide gorge. The power of the Earth Sword spurred hundreds of thousands of years of erosion to occur in only a matter of seconds.
Athiux’s horse leapt across the gap, followed closely by Kade’s. Behind them, Gabrel, Kaven and the Erygian warriors readied themselves for their own jumps, as the avalanche teased the animals’ ankles.
At the edge of the gorge, the horses exploded from the cliff side, and soared through the air. Below, Gabrel saw a dark abyss, hazed by clouds of dirt and dust. He brought his eyes back to the cliff side before them.
Gabrel yelled as his horse stretched out its legs, then landed firmly on solid earth. Behind the group, some of the crashing rock trickled past the clutches of the deep gorge, but as the chasm continued to expand, the avalanche poured itself into the great abyss, filling it with a healthy portion of rampaging earth.
Athiux sheathed the Earth Sword when he saw the rockslide diminish behind the others. He slowed his horse, and brought it to a stop. Those behind him did the same, and turned to discover that there was no longer a threat at their backs. Beyond the gorge, what was once the highest peak in the range now looked like a mound of rocky rubble.
“We made it,” said Kade, relieved. She noticed her grandfather’s eyes were stern and contemplative, still staring at the crumbled mountain. “What is it?” she asked him.
“For centuries,” he said, “the chamber has waited for this day—for foolish hands to break it down. Now, the very land that bore it in its bosom is ruined, and the chamber is no more. Never was this any intention of mine.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Kade. “It wouldn’t have happened if—” she looked to Kaven.
“If what?” Kaven asked. “If I’d have been more careful? That bag would’ve broken no matter who was holding it.”
“It was my choice to lead us here,” said the Sage. “The only comfort I find in this calamity is that some of the most terrible furenti ever created are forever lost. Now, I ask myself, ‘Are the tools we have taken worth this great price?’” He paused, and turned to the others. “I pray they are.”
“I’m sure they will be,” said Gabrel, feeling the weight of the Amulet within his belt pouch. Kaven shot him a quick glance, recognizing the reason for Gabrel’s optimism.
But Athiux did not seem as convinced as Gabrel was. “Time will tell,” said the Sage. “Time will tell.”
Table of Contents
Chapter 20: Discovery
A deep rumbling grew from within the belly of the wood, rattling the pebbles and twigs along the forest floor. Soon, it evolved into a ground-shaking drumming that rivaled the tumultuous pounding of a herd of charging bulls, or the roll of a merciless thunderstorm.
The Skaelar army passed effortlessly through the trees. Over rock and under limb, they raced, while, to Dareic’s surprise, maintaining perfect formation. He ran on foot, fully clad in the armor he bore since the attack at Trendell. It weighed heavier upon him with every step and had Dareic not been blessed with the gift of Momentum, he was sure his body would have collapsed after the seventh hour of sprinting that day. Yet he managed the pace as if he was one of their own.
More than 40,000 Skael’adar men and women made their way toward Caleton. When at last the order was given to rest, Dareic gravitated toward the riverside by which they stopped, and quenched his thirst with cool, fresh river water.
“Are we taking the main road back to Caleton?” he asked Treäbu.
“Yes,” Treäbu answered as more of his Skaelar brethren joined them by the river.
“What about Daro’s troops that patrol the roads?” Dareic asked. “Shouldn’t we go around them? Or are we planning to fight our way through? I’ve gotta say, even though the Golgril’s not a factor anymore, I wish the toil of trudging through the Corren’dai upon no soldier in your army.”
“No regiment or patrol of Daro’s demons will contest an army of this size,” said Treäbu. “It’s suicide. If they stand in our path, we will run them over like an avalanche.”
“Right,” said Dareic.
“I’ve never known a Human who could keep our pace on foot,” a female Skael’adar told Dareic. “It is very impressive.”
“He’s been blessed, Areda,” Treäbu told the Skaelar.
“And do you never tire?” asked Areda.
“I’m not sure,” answered Dareic. “But this bloody armor isn’t getting any lighter.”
“Then remove it,” said the Skael’adar.
“I’d rather not,” Dareic said.
“Which do you value more,” Areda spoke, “your speed, or your skin?”
“My skin, of course,” Dareic answered.
“Ah, but if you are fast enough, no blade, spear or arrow will touch your skin,” said Areda.
“I may be able to run as fast as you,” Dareic said, “but I doubt I can move like the Skaelar do, much less dodge an onslaught of arrows. Half the things I saw those dancers doing around the bonfire would’ve broken my back—and one damn near did! So, I’ll keep the armor on for now.”
Areda looked displeased. “Then stop complaining,” she said. “But if you wish to improve your situation, Skael’adar armor is better suited for travel on foot.” Dareic looked around at the other Skael’adar making camp. Most bore armor on one or both shoulders, and some even wore masks that covered the upper halves of their faces. Much of their armor was leather, though metal was also incorporated.
“You’d give me—a Human—Skael’adar armor?” Dareic asked. “I think that’d stir up quite the
controversy, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t make you one of us,” said Areda. “But if the metal you wear limits your effectiveness in battle, our army as a whole is weakened. We are only as fast as our slowest soldier.”
Dareic considered the Skaelar. “I’ll think about it,” he said, as Ralian approached.
“If you’ll come with me, ambassador, there is something I’d like to show you,” Ralian said.
“Sure,” Dareic answered. He acknowledged Areda and Treäbu with a nod, then followed Ralian, who escorted him away from the army.
“Where are we going?” Dareic asked.
“Somewhere quiet,” said the Sage, “where we can have a proper lesson in developing your new talent—using the magic of Verdure.”
Dareic was suddenly excited. “Excellent,” he said.
Ralian found a small clearing in the woods. “This will suffice,” he said. “Let your magic fill you now. Try to remember how it felt when you tasted the waters of Skael’demále.”
It had been wonderful, Dareic recalled, to be filled with such an amazing energy. The moment he allowed magic to fill him, he felt all the more connected to the world around him.
“That’s it,” he heard the Sage’s voice. “Breathe it in. Let it heighten every sense. Let it flow from your very soul, all the way to your fingertips and back again. Now, watch, and do as I do.”
Ralian filled himself with magic, and reached his hand toward the canopy above. As he did, one of the branches stretched across the clearing, and sprouted new leaves as the Sage guided its growth. When Ralian lowered his palm, the branch stopped moving.
“Your turn,” he said. “Feel not just the limb, but the tree, the root, the earth inside you. Will it to grow, and craft it as it does. It will listen to you.”
Though Dareic felt confident that the Fountain had blessed him with the ability to do what the Sage had instructed, it still seemed almost impossible—a thing reserved for the Creator and his Goddesses alone—to command the growth of a tree. Still, he held his palm to a different branch than the one the Sage had lengthened. He could sense it as if he were linked to it somehow. When he moved his hand, the branch moved with it. It did not grow as fast as the Sage’s branch had, but it grew, nonetheless. Dareic moved his hand in a wide loop, and the branch followed the path set for it. Ralian seemed amused.
“Either you’re a fast learner, or Verdure has come very naturally to you,” he said.
“Is this all I can do with it?” Dareic asked.
“Ha!” laughed the Sage. “Every day you could find a new use if you so wished. But for now, practice it. Attune it. And one day, you’ll be able to wield it with your thoughts alone.” The Sage’s eyes widened. He held no palm to the canopy, yet every branch Dareic could see grew and blossomed above him.
“Now you’re showing off,” Dareic said.
“And maybe,” the Sage continued, “you’ll learn so much as to dare something like this.” He held out his arm, then angled his palm toward the sky. His hand began to radiate a bright green light that sparkled with tiny, lustrous particles.
From Ralian’s palm, Dareic saw a tiny sprout pierce his skin, then grow, bud and blossom into a beautiful flower of turquoise and magenta, as the light around his hand faded.
“Much can be done with Verdure,” Ralian said, “But this particular magic is very dangerous. For the plant is made of your own blood.” He protruded a sharp claw from a finger on his other hand, and lightly cut the stem of the flower.
It bled red.
“Use too much, and you will die.”
“I’m not quite there yet,” Dareic told the Sage, who nodded in agreement, then plucked the flower from his palm, and placed it in the ground.
“Grow, my little one,” he said. “Grow. Now,” he returned his focus to Dareic. “Once again.”
* * * * *
Lord Daro unsheathed his blade, Redentor, and knelt. Finwynn and Hadaan watched on as he laid the sword upon the floor.
“I have finished examining the emerald sword, Stonecutter,” he said as Hadaan handed him the lustrous green blade. “It has proven stable and effective.” Daro demonstrated its talents by cutting a thin line into the floor beside him. Stonecutter moved through the cold, hard stone as though it were gliding through wet clay. “This magnificent tool is worthy of binding with my blade. I would allow you the privilege of bearing witness,” he told the Sage.
“This could have been your greatest contribution to the magical arts,” Finwynn told him. “Your knowledge of union spells could’ve helped so many. But you chose a different path.”
Daro considered the Sage, then returned his attention to Stonecutter.
“With this union,” he said, “I shall wield the power of four within the body of one. He held the emerald sword out from his body with both hands, as if offering it up to some unseen person. Daro filled himself with magic and cast a union spell. Stonecutter became a ghost of a weapon in his open palms—like a sword made of glowing silver mist, it fluttered as though it might blow away with a strong breeze.
“Stonecutter,” Daro spoke quietly, “merge your essence and bind with blades of old.” He lowered the sword’s ethereal composition down to Redentor, and laid it upon its darkened metal. He watched the dark sword glow bright white as the silver mist sank into its new body. Tanglings of red and violet light wrapped themselves around Daro’s prized furentus as they bound the essence of the emerald sword inside. With a final blinding flash, the spell concluded. Daro raised Redentor before his eyes, examining his magical craftsmanship with satisfaction, then cut a second line—aside the first—affirming his blade was imbued with Stonecutter’s gifts.
“Now, it is time,” he said. He rose and looked out a wide window at his armies below. “We march tonight.”
“And leave the Adorcenn Tower unprotected?” asked Hadaan.
“No, my son. To Caleton, we will bring only so much as to outweigh the Humans five to one. The rest of my children will remain here. They will protect this stronghold, and continue work on the wall.”
“Evindar will soon be yours for the taking, Father,” said Hadaan.
“Is your appetite for power so insatiable?” Finwynn entered the conversation.
“It is not power I seek,” Daro said. “But retribution.”
“The ravings of a radical,” said Finwynn.
Daro paused, finding the accusation amusing.
“A radical,” he said mockingly. “You sound like so many before you. So many, who saw my discoveries as wicked, blasphemous and unnatural.”
“If so many regarded them as such, did you never stop to think they might actually be right?”
“Magic is not evil,” said Daro. “It is founded on natural principles. It is simply molded to purpose. It is not the tools that are either wicked or virtuous, but the intentions of those that would use them.
When this world learned to refine metal—that minerals could be mined and transformed—what a wondrous discovery that was. Now, iron and steel are as natural to our lives as wood and stone. But observe, Sage, how every single nation has put this discovery to use.”
Daro raised his sword, and held it for Finwynn to see.
“Our ancestors turned an understanding of the natural world into instruments of death. But were they condemned for it? No, they were praised. My work was not meant to be used for slaughter. This was. And yet, I was deemed the heretic. Can you not see the hypocrisy?”
“Says the man who uses his magic to wage war against the nations of Adoran,” Finwynn said. “Against the Goddesses. It is a great a pity that one of your talent should have fallen so far.”
“Your goddesses would rather my talents be wasted,” Daro told him. “Even when I was but a young Enchanter, I was very familiar with their displeasure. I felt the first of it when I formulated a spell that induced an overpowering sense of love and lust. Rapture, I called it. Can you guess its purpose?”
“Some woman you fancied who didn’t shar
e your interest?”
“It was intended to end the hatred, long unresolved since the War of Ages. Could you imagine? An Incinian King falling desperately in love with an Erygian, opening the Fire Gates, and imploring his people to make their peace?”
“That companionship would challenge the old laws,” said Finwynn. “They would be dealt with harshly.”
“Or be deemed progressive,” Daro argued. “Ushering in an inevitable and long-awaited change. But the goddesses convinced my fellow Enchanters the magic was invasive—a violation of free will that removed choice and judgment. They would not see its virtue. All the good that would come.”
“And you could not see the wrong in it.”
“Nevertheless, I refused to let my exploration be stifled. For the betterment of our military, I proposed a very special draught that would see flesh unharmed.”
“Is that what you’ve done to yourself?” Finwynn asked. “That ungodly work upon your skin?”
“The Draught of Resilience,” Daro said. “Who would attack an invincible army? Who would wage war, when defeat was a certainty? It took many decades to develop but a single drop—an undertaking I concluded in exile—but its intention was always to encourage peace between the nations.”
“By transforming men into monsters,” spat Finwynn.
“A mindset I’ve come to predict,” Daro said. “Even from the wisest of Sages. Even when my magic promised life and longevity. My proudest discovery, I demonstrated for the Enchanters, and the Sage—Nexa Krillian.
I took them to the forest, to a single tree, ravaged by age.”
Daro, the youthful Enchanter, presented an ancient oak tree, leafless and dying.
Nexa, the Erygian Sage, was past her physical prime, but grew more powerful in her magic with each passing year. She was the oldest and wisest of Allestron’s wielders, and wore many rings and bracelets—each imbuing her with magical fortitude.
